All the Little Nothings
by Lemna Minor
Summary: David Wymack tried love once. Not his cup of tea, to put it mildly. Then he met Abby. He hated her, naturally; she practically molested him within minutes of meeting him. Too bad it didn't end there.
1. Chapter 1

Wymack banged on the court wall and cut his thumb across his throat to signal the end of practice. The Foxes peeled off their gloves and yanked at the straps of their helmets, trudging towards the inner door from all corners of the court. They looked like slimy, sweaty zombies, thoroughly exhausted from a long day of workouts and study. Tonight's practice had been particularly rough, but damn if they didn't give it their all. He was so proud of the shitheads this year, but god forbid if he told them too often. He'd never live it down.

He waited for them in the meeting room, leaning against the entertainment center so it dug into his hips with a hard edge. They knew the drill. It was time for him to pep them up for the game tomorrow and tell them the new passcode. The Wilkes-Meyers Hornets should be a breeze for them now, but they couldn't afford to sit back on their laurels, not if they wanted to make it to semis.

Abby wandered out from her office, clasping a manila folder in her hand, eyes raking him over, lingering at his pelvic region. Wymack suppressed a shiver. She had that clinical look in her eyes, so he wasn't surprised when she frowned and said, "I think you're due for a check up on your hip. Got time tonight?"

Wymack checked his watch, keeping an eye on Abby in his peripherals as she approached to stand next to him at the front of the room. He was an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy and there was some lingering research to do on their opponents tonight. Normally, he'd say no, but he tsked and shrugged, "If you feed me."

Abby looked amused. "You really should learn how to cook."

Wymack was about to spit out a comeback, seeing as he could kind of cook, at least the easy stuff, when Andrew's gang sans Neil (who apparently joined some time ago at an unknown but undoubtedly questionable cost) strolled into the room. Nicky, ever nosey, was watching them curiously. Wymack shut his mouth.

"Hey boys," Abby said in greeting.

"Hey Abby," Andrew chirped, "I hear you're having a dinner party tonight. Were you going to invite us or don't you love us anymore?"

Before Abby could respond, because she'd probably concede, David cut in: "Grab something quick from the caf and go straight to bed. We're leaving at the ass crack of dawn."

Andrew laughed, "Of course, Coach. Right away, Coach."

"Don't worry, Coach," Nicky added with a wink, "We get it. We won't interrupt your date night."

"Date night?" Dan asked, before Wymack could chew Nicky out, "Who's got a date night?" Renee and Allison followed on her heels.

"Abby's going to examine Coach's hip tonight," Andrew explained, smiling broadly at Wymack to rub in the fact he'd been eavesdropping, "He won't let us come along."

"Because we all know 'examine' means—"

"Hemmick!" Wymack said, "Stop yapping and park your ass down before I make you." Still, he didn't miss the knowing look Nicky shared with Dan.

Wymack knew the Foxes were taking bets on the odds he was hooking up with Abby. It wasn't discussed in front of him, not on purpose, but he knew his kids and he recognized the smug looks they shot at each other. They were taking bets. Definitely.

Part of him was surprised that Dan appeared to be in agreement with Nicky. She was the only one of the Foxes he trusted with any of his dysfunctional side, though she was, for a lack of a better term, an optimist.

It didn't take long for Matt for to wander in, but, as usual, they were waiting on Neil to finish up.

Just when he was getting tired of waiting, Andrew piped up. "Coach, can we start already? Kevin's getting cranky."

Kevin looked like his normal pissed-off post-practice self, but Wymack was mildly surprised to see Neil sitting unobtrusively at Andrew's side. He hadn't seen the boy come in. Neil was particularly talented at sneaking by under the radar, except, of course, when it was most important for him to do it. Wymack remembered Kathy's show with annoyance.

"Okay, you miserable scamps," Wymack declared, slapping the Hornet's file down on the entertainment center to get their attention, "We're boarding the bus at 5 am tomorrow. If you're not there, you'll get the pleasure of waking up to my foot buried in your ass at 5:01 am. Am I clear?"

An unenthusiastic mumbling chorus of "Yes, Coach," was heard, though Wymack suspected only half of the Foxes bothered at all.

"You can go back to sleep until 7, but then we're having breakfast. By 11 am, I expect you each to be sitting up straight and walking laps around the bus in turns. That's the last call for any snacks as well. As soon as we arrive, we'll head out to the court for a warm-up. The rest is standard. Any questions?"

Some of the blank stares weren't openly hostile, so Wymack considered his spiel a success.

"As for the gate, its new code is: 9284. 9284. Got it? Don't you dare text me five minutes after practice was supposed to start telling me your sorry ass forgot. 9284."

The Foxes shared a pondering look.

"Numbers from Abby's license plate," Neil supplied quietly, never missing a detail. Even Abby looked surprised.

Wymack sighed as ten pairs of eyes swiveled on him.

"Wow, Coach, creepy stalker, much?" Allison said, eyes wide.

"Get out," Wymack said, uninterested in the conversation. "I don't want to see any of your faces until 5 am tomorrow. Not a minute before and not a minute later."

The Foxes were as excited to leave as he was to see them go.

"Do you think we should look at our peaking schedule?" he asked Abby when they left, "I think we should plan to go farther this year." Most of the Foxes didn't know it, but Wymack actually tried to incorporate real coaching strategies where he could. Peaking was a technique to structure practices to have athletes at a physical peak for their biggest competition. He'd love to get his athletes to follow a diet or at least cut out drugs and alcohol. The concept was laughable with the Foxes, though, so he wasn't holding his breath.

"Let's not, tonight," Abby said. She turned and headed for the door. "Meet me at my place for homemade pizza, wine, and a pelvic exam, creepy stalker."

Wymack turned to gather his folders, hoping he wasn't blushing, not that she was looking.

He didn't know when he fell in love with Abby, but he knew he was bad at it. No, they weren't "boning" as he overheard Nicky say once, though they did, once. That was when she was just his hot therapist. David knew how to have wicked sex with strangers. He knew how to coach kids almost as a father-figure. He barely knew how to have friends. He had absolutely no idea how to be a lover. He tried that once, with Kayleigh. And he fucked it up. He fucked it up so bad.

He never wanted to do that to Abby.


	2. Chapter 2

"Hi," Wymack said, as his sports therapist entered the room, "I'm David. I'd like to play Exy again." He held out his hand for her to shake.

She did, a gentle but firm shake. He eyes widened at the mention of Exy. "You play Exy?"

"That's what I said,"_ like two seconds ago_, he added sarcastically in his head. "You?"

"Oh, no. I just—oh, I totally forgot to introduce myself didn't I?" she giggled nervously. That was annoying. "I'm Abby. I read your file, David, but why don't you tell me your story in your own words while I check on your injury?" She closed the examination door behind her.

"Sure," David said.

"I think this would be easier if you were standing," Abby said as she pulled on rubber gloves.

"Right," David said, standing. "So, I was in a car wreck." That was the short story.

"Aw, I'm sorry," Abby said, kneeling before him, "Can you describe your injury for me in more detail? Including your limitations and what goals you have for treatment."

"Doc said I broke my hip in three places," David said, trying not to think about any other time he'd had a girl kneeling in front of him and unbuckling his pants.

"You don't mind if we just slip these off, right?" Abby asked, apparently referring to his jeans.

"Oh yeah, no problem," David said, though he thought it might be a problem. He considered asking for a male therapist, but he wasn't sure that'd make it any less awkward. "I've got a cane, and Doc keeps feeding me all sorts of drugs and telling me to wait it out on the couch until it heals. I don't do well sitting on my ass all day. I want to be back to Exy as soon as possible."

Abby was carefully folding down his underwear at his left hip little by little, running a careful finger along his scar tissue, her face inches away as she examined closely.

David stared intently at the poster about healthy eating habits on the wall across from him, concentrating on not thinking about her and willing his dick to behave. It had already started hardening, but it wasn't noticeably erect yet. There was time to save this before it got bad.

Bananas are good for you! Potassium! Dark-leafed vegetables! Iron! He shouted mentally at himself, while another part of his brain swore he felt her breath on his skin. Overall he thought he was doing ok, except she was distracting him with questions about his injury. The last thing he needed was for her to keep bringing attention to herself.

She asked him something, but his mind couldn't comprehend it.

"Uhh," he started. Get it together! Don't think about it! Her fingers brushed his hip lightly and he let out an involuntary, clearly audible gasp. His dick twitched. Abby startled and pushed back, her hand colliding with his now noticeably firm dick.

David Wymack wanted to kill himself. He hid his face in both of his hands. "I'm sorry," he groaned quietly.

Abby rocked back on her heels. "No, no, it's ok," she said awkwardly, obviously uncomfortable as well, "This happens like a lot, like I've hardly even seen a flaccid penis in person, they always do that around me." She was babbling. David did not feel any better.

"Well, hey," Abby said with faux-brightness, "Think of it this way, it can't get more awkward, right? In fact, I was going to ask you to take your underwear off so I could see better. Nothing to hide now, huh?"

The hot flush of his embarrassment flared into anger. "No, it could've been more awkward, and you just made it more awkward. NOW it can't get more awkward."

Abby looked distressed at the heat in his voice, and Wymack felt a surge of guilt.

"And yes ma'am I will take off my underwear," he said by way of apology, maneuvering out of his boxer-briefs. "Behold," he said, splaying his hands out. God this was awkward.

"Aw, see it's cute," Abby said, tapping his bare ass playfully with a flat hand, "Nothing to be ashamed of."

There was a beat of silence.

"How could you think that'd be an appropriate thing to say to your patient? In what universe?" Wymack said, horrified.

"Just trying to lighten the mood," Abby said with a too-broad smile and a shrug.

David didn't appreciate her flippant attitude. "Stop sexually harassing me, that's how you can lighten the mood."

"I promise I won't look at that part," Abby said, holding a hand out to edit his dick from her vision and reaching another towards his hip. "We good?"

"Yeah, you know what? No. Nope." Wymack didn't think he had much shame, but this was ridiculous. He started pulling his clothes back on. "How about I get dressed and never ever fucking come back here again."

Even with his dick tucked into his underwear waistband and his jeans buckled up, his erection was still visible to the naked eye. David's eyes scanned the room for something to cover up with. Abby stared at him with wide eyes and her mouth parted in a shocked O. He hated himself for his mind reflexively imagining a blow job from her.

Panicking and angry with himself, he pulled off his t-shirt and balled it up in front of him. He grabbed his cane and got the hell out of there.

As soon as he got home he masturbated to the image of her mouth in that O.


	3. Chapter 3

David stared at his scrawled directions. He looked up quizzically, double checking the street sign. He sighed. Yep. Definitely lost. New York City had always been a pain in his ass, but his body didn't appreciate extending walks anymore.

He gripped his cane and turned around; he must have missed his street somewhere. Sharp pain radiated from his hip at his twist. He grit his teeth and forced his feet forward. Again, he cursed his paltry insurance. He was only allowed to go to a few select places for healthcare, and only one of those offered therapy. Wymack had no intention of ever returning to _that_ place, even with a new therapist. Hopefully his body could hold out until the move.

David wasn't very impressed with his neighborhood to-be so far. He could never stomach living somewhere "nice," but the grime and shabbiness here was just a little too close to home. Instinctively his eyes scanned the area for the typical targets: dumpsters, escape routes, places that would function decently as dry places to sleep. David did not miss his stint on the streets of Baltimore. He did not miss living in a place where gangs held more authority than cops. He did not miss living in an area where being a homeless teen boy solicited more offers for an in to prostitution or drug running than bagging groceries or paper routes.

Still, he was excited about his summer gig.

Speaking of which—he double-checked the address—he was here. The building was old, but ornate. Back in the neighborhood's heyday, it was probably a ritzy hotel. David struggled up the cracked concrete steps.

It took him almost two minutes, and in the end, he almost fell back down them again as a kid whipped open the heavy wooden doors and ran into him just as he reached the top.

"Yikes! Sorry Mister!" she exclaimed, reaching out arms to steady him. "Are you alright? I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention. It's my first day and I'm pretty nervous!"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," David muttered. "It's your first day here? Mine too. What's your job?"

"Swim Coach!" she said, looking proud.

"Oh, great, congrats," David said, without any feeling. The girl nodded and waved as she bounded down the steps. She had to be a high schooler. David wasn't quite old enough to be her father, but he wasn't thrilled that his career was essentially on par with a high schooler's.

He blinked to adjust to the lighting in the building. There was an ancient wooden reception desk in front of him. Another teenager stood behind the desk, nose deep in a textbook about ancient Chinese history.

David cleared his throat, and the kid looked up.

"Yo, man. 'Sup?" the kid said, sounding half-bored, half-annoyed.

"I'm looking for John," David said. John didn't sound like a teenager on the phone, but he was starting to become concerned.

Apathetic-nerd-kid jerked his thumb to an office door behind him. "In there." He went straight back to his book. Brat.

David let himself into the office. The place was a mess. Several desks were placed haphazardly in the room, surrounded by partially opened boxes and cluttered with paperwork. A man sat behind one of them, trying to shove a particular stack of paper into a green folder.

David tapped his cane once, more from anxious energy than stirring John out of his paperwork-induced haze. Nonetheless, the other man's eyes flickered to attention at the sound.

"Hey," John said, standing up, "You must be David! Welcome to the madhouse."

David shook John's hand, noticing how the man eyed his cane. "This is temporary," he said, tapping his hip, "Just got into a little accident a few weeks ago."

"Oh great," John said, "Not that it's a problem. We're really grateful for all of our volunteers. Ready for the tour?"

"Sure," David said. There was an awkward pause as John unearthed himself from his desk, so he added, "I just heard about Exy for under-privileged kids and came running, but I ran into a swim coach at the door. Is that part of this thing too?"

"Oh, yeah, you didn't know?" John said, eyebrows raised, "Fucking Donna. She never explains things properly. Let's walk and talk."

As the headed out of the office, John began his explanation. "Yeah, so the goal is to be like a YMCA of sorts, but with a focus in nontraditional sports. The idea is we get kids introduced to sports that they might not otherwise get the chance to in low income areas. So far we've got swimming, rowing, hockey, lacrosse, and now, with your help, Exy. The kids are stoked about that, by the way. We threw a proposal around for a year before a richy-rich picked it up."

Turns out the building had been a hotel until the 1940s. A few years ago, a company started renovating to revive the place as an apartment building. The company went bankrupt before finishing, but a large bulk of the work had already been done.

The pool was in the basement, along with a long shallow bath that John said they were looking to use as an indoor rowing tank. The former ballroom had been converted into an ice hockey rink. They had to brush the floor off with brooms by hand, and there was only a five foot strip between the rink wall and the ball room wall, but it worked alright. A few balconies peered out over the ballroom floor, and John said during practice the coaches would sit up in the balcony to get a good view and yell down at the kids.

"What we're thinking for Exy," John started, clearly a bit concerned, "It's similar to hockey, yeah, what with using walls for rebounds and shit?"

David nodded, studying the court.

"Yeah, we were thinking we'd get a rubber mat, some padding, and astroturf, and you guys could set that up in the rink for practice, if that works."

"Actually, we'd need a hard floor, if possible." David played Exy in pretty questionable set ups, so he could handle just about anything, but he wanted to teach kids the right way if he could.

John bit his lip, studying the rink. "We'll figure something out."

Next they headed up to the roof, where a tall fence had been installed to catch stray balls, and turf had been laid out. It was the largest open space they had. "You're welcome to use it," John said, "Just check the schedule to make sure no other teams are practicing on it."

"That works," David said. He definitely believed in cross training, so he was looking forward to take advantage of the field. "You got a weight room for the older kids?"

"Yeah, actually. That's on the second floor, which we should go to next anyway. You said you were looking for a place, right?"

"That I am," David declared, refusing to feel ashamed.

"Great. It sucks we can't pay you guys directly, but I'm glad we can offer housing at least. We've got quite a few things planned for the second floor: weight room, a few equipment rooms, a study place and lounge for the kids to hang out in, snacks and drinks for the kids…" He ticked each thing off on a finger, "oh, and the training room. In fact, if you want, you should get your hip checked out by our PT. She's excellent."

"That'd be awesome, thank you," David said, "Not a fan of my current therapist, it'd be great to get another set of eyes."

"Oh, no problem. I'll introduce you two sometime. Actually, she's been dying to meet you. She's not really familiar with Exy, and she wants to learn. Just so she can better understand what injuries to anticipate and what kind of recovery would be best, that sort of thing."

They walked along the second floor and John pointed things out as appropriate. "Oh, I forgot to mention, balcony access is right here as well, let me show you…"

The balcony gave a great view of the court. David peered directly over the edge, wondering about blind spots beneath, when he heard John speak up.

"Abigail! Hey!"

David felt John's elbow at his side, "It's the PT I was telling you about."

David straightened as the woman below shouted back, "John! I was just looking for you! Can we talk?"

His jaw dropped when he saw her. He couldn't forget her face, not after that traumatic experience: it was that sports therapist chick.

John misinterpreted his gaping mouth for appreciation instead of horror. "I know, right? Not a bad body, but, fair warning: she's pretty messed up." He turned back to the woman to yell. "I'll meet up with you in a bit. I'm just finishing showing our new Exy coach around. He's got a bad hip for you to check on later, he said he hates the therapist he has now."

"Oh," Abby said, "Hates?" She laughed, but it wasn't a mirthful sound. David could tell from her glare that she recognized him. "Well, I'd love to help remedy that situation. Meet you in five?"

"Sure, sure," John said, waving her off. "Let me show you your room real quick and call it a day," he said to David.

"Sounds great," David lied, still reeling.


End file.
